Of Rings and Revelations
by billionsofblue
Summary: In which Sherlock Holmes buys a ring for a certain Irene Adler.


A/N: Fluff- fest, little plot, OODLES of Sherlock/ Irene. Established relationship in this context, with Mycroft and John knowing that Irene is alive. Sherlock has been 'resurrected', his re- initiation into society smooth- sailing, and all is well. Apologies for any OOC-ness.

Summary: In which Sherlock Holmes buys a ring for a certain Irene Adler

* * *

_"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." _

_-Emily Brontë_

The phone on the table buzzed sharply and John picked it up, only to frown as he read the words across the screen:

"Come down at once. - SH"

Sighing in resignation and abandoning any thought of further leisurely activity for the afternoon - he had been thinking about starting a new book he had purchased- he pocketed the phone, shrugged on his jacket and trudged down the stairs. Sherlock was already waiting in the taxi, and although he maintained the stoic mask on his face, it was visible to John that the consulting detective was uneasy about something. The shallow crease between his brow, his tight posture with shoulders slightly hunched in, the periodic tapping of his index against his thigh...

John pulled open the passenger door and slid in, but barely had time to settle down before Sherlock motioned for the driver to drive off, causing John to bump the back of his head most unpleasantly against the hard leather seat.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me where we are going?" John finally broke the silence after a few minutes. unable to stand the oppressive tension in the taxi any longer.

"You'll know when we get there." Was Sherlock's cryptic reply, and John opened his mouth, about to protest against such a lack of information, but instead snapped his jaws shut and studied his friend carefully.

There was definitely something odd about Sherlock- well, Sherlock himself was a man of oddities, but his behaviour had been largely uncharacteristic recently.. Ever since the woman's departure a week ago, he had sunken into a sullen, morose temper, and snapped at anyone who dared address him. Even Mrs Hudson had given up on trying to coax him into having his meals. Irene's visits were becoming more frequent and less sporadic in intervals, and a period of sulking from Sherlock would follow her departure from their apartment each time, but never before a one as huge as this one. John had refrained from teasing him for displaying signs of sentiment this time round, knowing that Sherlock seemed to possess a very short fuse nowadays. Whatever the reason, his gut feeling told him that the premise of Sherlock's strange behaviour would come to light at the arrival of their destination.

And he was right.

"Tiffany's?!" John cried out incredulously, staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock obstinately held his gaze for a moment with his piercing cerulean gaze, but growled softly under his breath after a minute, looking away.

"I want to buy a ring. And seeing how you have recently proposed to...to...her, I can only surmise that you have - as much as I hate to concede- more experience in this area than I do. So-" Sherlock jerked his head in the direction of the store.

" 'Her' name is Mary, Sherlock." John narrowed his eyes, but his irritation was soon overridden by a colossal wave of curiosity.

"...you want to buy a ring...for Irene?" John clarified, wanting to hear the confirmation from the man himself.

"I thought that would have been obvious. Do you know of anyone else whom I can buy a ring for?" Sherlock bit out through clenched teeth, as the store assistant approached them with a beaming smile.

"Good afternoon sirs, may I help you?"

"Yes, we are looking for a ring. Not for us-" he quickly clarified upon seeing the sly smile on the assistant's face - "it's for my friend's...uh...lady friend."

"Right. This way then, and I'll show you some of our newest selections."

Sherlock did not find anything to his liking in the store. Or the next. Or the next. Or the next. They had been into Cartier's, Van Cleef & Arpels, Bvlgari and Harry Winston's just to name a few, and the price tags had gotten progressively larger and in John's opinion, downright ridiculous. Sherlock began to get more short tempered and abusive towards the cowering staff as he failed time and again to find a ring that met his expectations.

"...if you dont mind me asking, Sherlock, why are you so insistent on finding a ring for Irene? You're not going to...propose, are you?"

As soon as the word 'propose' left his lips, Sherlock blanched in disgust.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. Of course not."

John waited patiently for the explanation, and Sherlock relented. "Irene enjoys wearing rings. Each time, she has a different ring on her finger, sometimes two. It is a habit of hers. I also noticed that she possesses a silver solitaire in her collection that she has worn on several occasions, and I accurately deduced that it was given to her by one of her previous long- time clients who had proposed to her."

Here Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but continued - "she turned the idiot down, of course, but was persuaded to keep the ring."

He paused and his eyes darkened with an indecipherable emotion. "I suppose it is sentiment on her part that she wears it. I don't like it."

Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow when John started to chuckle.

"You're jealous!" He cried, and Sherlock scoffed."I am not." He spat, although the words rang in his mind. Just the day before her departure he had asked Irene her reason for favouring the particular ring, and she had picked up on the trace of unhappiness in his voice immediately.

"Are you jealous?" She had asked, her voice lilting and teasing as she brushed her fingers softly down his jaw.

He had replied in the negative and expressed his distaste for the inference she had made, but Irene had merely given a little 'mmmhm' before burying her hands into his dark curls and pulling him in for a kiss.

"You're jealous so you want to buy her a ring for her to wear." John stated again, and Sherlock dearly wished he could swipe the smug, satisfied smirk off John's face.

"You clearly are not providing any assistance, John."

"Hey, it isn't my fault you turned down every ring they had to offer." John raised his eyebrows, and sighed when Sherlock remained silent.

"They're all _wrong_." Sherlock muttered, nearly inaudibly so that John had to strain his ears to catch the words.

"They can't all be wrong, Sherlock. Surely Irene would have liked some of them."

"Liking it is not good enough." Sherlock asserted, and with a renewed vigour, started stalking down the street, determined to find the correct ring.

John furrowed his brows, but followed his friend nonetheless.

"How about that one?" John pointed at a nondescript jewellers store, old fashioned and vintage looking amongst its flashier competitors.

The fading poster on its display window declared that one would be able to find 'a ring for anyone on any occasion'. Nodding, Sherlock headed towards the store. Nice find, John - John gave himself a mental congratulatory pat on the back, and jogged to catch up with the detective's long strides. The tinkling of bells sounded as they entered the store, and a wizened old man stepped out of the backroom.

"Welcome, sirs. Looking for a ring?" He asked, his voice thick and croaky.

"Yes." Sherlock answered succinctly.

"Ah. Have a look then, have a look..."

The man drew out a velvet lined tray from beneath the glass table top, and both men leaned over to study the collection.

"That one is nice." John pointed at a pale pink diamond set in rose gold, but Sherlock shook his head.

"It doesn't suit her." "That one?" A thin platinum band adorned with many little emeralds.

"No."

It went out like this for a few more minutes, with the old man growing more and more excited by the minute as Sherlock rejected every ring in view.

"Do you have ANY ring that wouldn't bore me?" Sherlock finally snapped.

The old man paused for a moment. then appraised Sherlock with an experienced eye.

"I believe I do. But first- describe this woman for me, please."

John paused in his perusal of the watches on display, and walked back over to Sherlock's side, his interest piqued.

"She's..." Sherlock appeared to be speechless for a moment, something that astounded and excited John. Sherlock- speechless!

"...the woman." He finished, somewhat lamely.

John's eyes widened- a simple description, it meant nothing to outsiders, but not to John- he knew that in Sherlock's eyes, Irene eclipsed and predominated all of her sex. She was the only equal Sherlock would have, and if John had any doubts that he loved- truly loved- Irene before, they were vanquished now.

The old man appeared to be considering his description, then all of a sudden, bustled off into the backroom, surprisingly light on his feet for someone so old, and reappeared quickly, bearing a velvet box in his hand.

"The stones were from the late 18th century, but the ring itself was designed and set by me." He declared proudly, before opening the lid with a flourish.

"A fine ring for a fine woman." The old man added, his eyes knowing.

Nestled in the silky lining was a gleaming oval sapphire set in a band made of white gold, with little diamond accents and an intricacy in design and structure that Sherlock was sure Irene would adore. It was the sapphire of her eyes when it flashed with deep emotion- it was the sapphire of his robe that she so enjoyed wearing- it was the sapphire of the damnable evening gown she wore the first night Sherlock experienced the heady rush of sexual want- and despite the fact that Sherlock, as a reasonable, cool- headed creature of logic- knew for a fact that there was no such thing as perfection, this ring as close to perfection as he had ever seen.

"Yes. This is the one." Sherlock declared, finally satisfied.

"£19,000." The man announced, and John grimaced.

"Sherlock?" John asked, looking at his friend.

"This is the one." Sherlock replied once more, firmly.

"Excellent. I couldn't have parted with this ring for anyone less worthy, sir. You obviously love this...friend of yours a great deal."

Sherlock, John notice, did not flinch at the word 'love', and once again, silently marveled over the change that the woman had wrought in his friend. Small, barely noticeable changes, but changes nonetheless. Who would have known, John thought to himself smilingly, that Sherlock Holmes _could_ find love after all?

.

.

.

.

John was excited. There was no concealing the fact.

"You're giving it to her today?" He asked again, and Sherlock nodded, showing a surprising amount of patience at John's repeated queries.

Two days ago Sherlock had received confirmation from one of his sources that Irene had booked a flight to London, and he knew she would be arriving today. The velvet box sat in his coat pocket, waiting patiently to be presented to its soon to be owner.

"She'll be here soon." He stated, and John smiled, before clapping his friend on the back and heading off.

"I'll leave you to it then. Mary's parents are waiting for me to have lunch, I can't delay them. Tell me how it goes."

The apartment became still once more after John's departure, and Sherlock sat in his armchair, waiting. He had counted two thousand, two hundred and eighty ticks of the clock, sixty- six cars passing Baker Street, twenty people entering the cafe and six of whom had left before he finally heard it.

A muffled thump in his room. She was back.

Rising from his position languidly, he entered the room just as she dropped the caramel suede overcoat she had donned for travel on the floor.

"Back so soon?" He asked, watching intently as she shimmied out of her forest green, kimono- sleeved dress, leaving her in little but a lacy demi- cup and matching underwear.

"You knew I was coming back, darling, just as I knew you went shopping with John last Thursday."

She approached him, hips swaying attractively, pressing herself against the length of his body, and dipped her hand into his pocket.

"What's this, I wonder?" She cooed, and flipped the box open, only to pause uncharacteristically, at a loss for words.

Sherlock admired her unguarded reaction discreetly. It was thrilling, wonderful and incredibly sexy to watch.

"Oh...darling," she purred finally, her eyes twinkling as she looked up at him, and Sherlock silently removed the ring from the box.

Picking up her right hand in his, his fingers skimmed lightly over her pulse line, and slipped it onto her ring finger where the silver solitaire used to be.

"Don't wear that ring anymore." He stated simply.

Irene's lips quirked briefly, and she raised her hand to the light to admire her new ring.

"I love it." She sighed happily.

"It must have caused you a pretty penny, Sherlock. £18000 at least."

"Nineteen." He replied quietly.

"You didn't have to." Her gaze connected with his. Two bright sapphires boring into his very core.

"I know."

But he wanted to. That was the problem. In the days after her departure, the thought of doing so had haunted his every waking minute. He had tried to let go of the idea after dismissing it as a bothersome by- product of sentiment, but the idea refused to let go of him. It was treacherous and torturous, having to go through his daily motions while being haunted by the thought of buying a ring for Irene.

Irene let out a breathy sigh, bringing him back to the present and he watched her admire the ring, cataloguing her expressions. She looked up at him then, noticing his heavy gaze, and the corner of her full lips tipped up in a small smirk.

"I suppose I should thank you now..." She lifted her heel off the ground in a tip toe, reached for the back of his head and pulled him down towards her. Their lips were inches away from each other. He could smell the distinct peach and apricot gloss on her lips, and-

"Sherlock?"

Mycroft's disembodied voice reached their ears, and Irene pulled away, her lips turned down in an unappreciative frown. Sherlock inwardly mourned the loss of closeness between them and left a note at the back of his mind to get back at Mycroft for interrupting them.

Irene snapped up suddenly, however, and a wicked, playful expression ghosted across her face as she glanced at her new ring and back at Sherlock. Bequeathing him a quick peck on the lips and a bigger kiss on the cheek that he was undoubtedly sure had left an ostentatious lipstick mark, she flounced out of the room with her hand outstretched.

"Good afternoon, Mr Holmes. Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

Mycroft did not bat an eyelid at Irene's state of undress, but winced and narrowed his eyes in suspicion at her falsely affected tone.

His eyes darted to her hand immediately as she waved it in the air airily, picking up on the ring that adorned her finger at once- it was, after all, eye catching and impossible to miss. Irene's grin widened when Sherlock stepped out of his room, a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek. She rubbed it off him affectionately, and Mycroft made a sound of part disgust and horror when the realization dawned on him.

"You gave it to her, didn't you, brother?" "And here i was, wondering why £19000 had suddenly disappeared from your private account." "To think that you would use it to buy something so...sentimental is beyond me." Mycroft paused after each statement, incomprehension and disbelief colouring his normally mocking tone.

"You might think sentiment would get you nowhere, Mr Holmes, but your brother is going to be handsomely rewarded...all night." Irene finished wickedly, and Sherlock's heart raced under his chest.

His expression belayed nothing whatsoever, but a swift, victorious smirk did cross his face as he watched Mycroft blanch and turn a shade paler.

"Since I clearly know now how the money has been wasted, I will take my leave. Good day."

"Have a good night." Irene called back purposefully, delighting in his riled up expression.

"He hates how you tease him so mercilessly." Sherlock commented, coming around to rest his hand on her hip.

"Ah, we're equal in yet another aspect, then." Irene replied, laughing softly and turning into his embrace.

.

.

.

.

Later that night (or early that morning) as they lay panting and gasping for breath after their fifth round of vigorous...activity, Sherlock found himself smirking.

"Do share your secret, darling." Irene managed to gasp out in between breaths, and Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows, peering down at her and letting his gaze roam across her svelte figure.

"Handsomely rewarded indeed." He replied simply, and one finger reached down to trail a teasing path down her arm and onto the finger with the ring, before skimming over her abdomen and coming to rest on her highly sensitized sex again. A gentle flick of the finger against her clit, and electricity immediately chased itself up and down Irene's spine. Her eyes flashed, and in a heartbeat, she was the one on top. As she started moving against him once more, eliciting moans from the both of them, Sherlock realized how wrong his brother was - buying the ring was most definitely _not_ a waste.


End file.
